From Almaren to Erebor
by AccapellaAnarchist
Summary: In order to save his kin from Melkor's rage, Eru had to take what remained of their souls and rend them in mortal flesh- Hobbits, as they are commonly known. The Diminished Valar were secreted away and forgotten for their own safety to wait until the remaking of the world to restore their souls and forms. Bilbo Baggins, however, is rather impatient. (Full summary inside)
1. Chapter 1

**The story of a Hobbit who's-very-uncomfortable-with-dwarvish-cursing-and-looks-amusingly-constipated-whenever-his-companions-do-so-though-he-won't-say-why.**  
 **The Valar- known also as the Ainur- once lived alone in the world, a race of beings of great power and knowledge who took many forms and devoted themselves to the exploration of both world and self. By these things they came by the knowledge of soul craft- those who were able to see the souls of others had the capacity to recreate them, as the free people of Middle earth know lúvatar did. Taught by their elder, Eru studied with his brother in this craft until Melkor turned from the light in a jealous rage that tainted the song of the world and nearly annihilated their own race, leaving but 15 whose souls remained intact. In order to save their kin, Eru had no choice but to take what remained of their souls and rend them in mortal flesh- Hobbits, as they are commonly known. With little power left to them, the Diminished Ainur (Hobbits) were secreted away and forgotten for their own safety to wait until the remaking of the world to restore their souls and forms. Bilbo Baggins, however, is rather impatient.**

 **This is me trying to cure my writer's block everybody!**

Bilbo was old. Older than most anyway, even among his own race he was thought of and treated as one of the elders- nothing like the Old Took of course, though few could claim to be so ancient that no one actually remembered how old that exactly was.

He was feeling every bit his age that evening, having just sent off a large gaggle of faunts who had chosen to ambush him in his garden where he was contentedly smoking his pipe, begging for him to revive his role as storyteller. Often he recited ancient tales of the world when it was new, when the glory of their race was an unspoken rule and they lived as they would with only themselves and the lands they had helped shape for company. When the mountains had yet to settle and listen to the laws of gravity, when the seas rose and fell with the movement of the many astral bodies their world once held claim to.

When he was whole.

They had bid him to speak of the fall of their world, how the mountains had fallen and the sky had been flushed to blackness. Dramatic a tale it may be, but it held many things Bilbo did not wish to revisit.

Now the darkening sky held only the remains of the two trees, shedding light on their world that was pale and much diminished from what it once was. From what it was supposed to have been. The land had abandoned its mischievous nature and lay near dormant, speaking quietly if it even deigned to speak at all. To the hobbits of the Shire who knew better, it was as if a pall had been cast over their world, the grand melody it had once been was tainted beyond repair- an organ left to rust and bend until it was beyond hope to fix, making only the most sour of notes should one listen.

With this pall, this tuneless song threatening to consume you should you listen too long, hobbits could only sit and wait.

It was long ago that they had lost their influence over the world, and such helplessness grated on Bilbo's old and fairly frayed nerves. Those who still held influence had neither the knowledge nor the power to fix it they were so few in number, and once again Bilbo found himself mourning his little siblings.

They were not dead- at least not as far as he knew- though one now resided far across the sea watching over the others and holding a burden much too large for his young shoulders while the eldest had fallen from the light in a jealous rage and was himself responsible for their race's unfortunate circumstance; forever banished to the darkness to which all things return.

He had other family of course, many who lived merely down the road but with his _kahu_ having passed, not as their kind sometimes do, from one form to the next but ʻ _oiaʻiʻo,_ the true end from which no souls return, he had no close relations to tie him here.

Bilbo stayed however. He stayed because that was what he was supposed to do, he gave up his name, his wings, his spirit to the Shire as his brother had pleaded when he had nearly followed their _kahu_.

 _"You're all I have left, you foolish thing, don't make me lose you as well."_ He had cried last they had seen one another- when to save Bilbo's soul and subsequently his life he had bound what remained of his spirit to the Shire. Much time had passed since, and it was likely that Bilbo had healed enough to warrent leaving again, to wander back home with the stronger ones and see what remained of their unharmed kin, but he was both weary and wary of what he might find or what might become of him should he be wrong.

Even should he return home, he -like most of their race- was as diminished as the world itself. His form had been lost to him ever since his return to the Shire and he was stuck in the skin that the Diminished had been given when they fell- that which a less knowledgeable being of middle earth would know only as a hobbit.

It wasn't a problem really, he had as much autonomy as any other race wandering Arda, it was only knowing that it wasn't what he was _supposed_ to be that irritated him so. He thought it much like loosing a limb or a sense, you learn to work around it and you endure, but it's very hard to forget what had been. Just because the other races had never experienced that loss didn't make them lesser, it simply meant they didn't understand.

The Ainur of the Shire could also never speak of it- or rather they weren't supposed to. Even the Maiar, who originated after the Fall were kept unaware of their existence save the barest of facts. It was for their protection his brother had said, the Diminished were weakened to a point that the perilous folly of mortals could do them grave harm, or worse as happened to his _kahu_.

It was for that reason that Bilbo staunchly refused to be swayed by the wizard that had come traipsing up the hill to sweep him away on some 'adventure' to faraway lands.

Olórin had not been wrong when he spoke of Bilbo's previous wanderlust, even his status as one of the Diminished hadn't quelled his spirit. However he had stayed in the Shire for many a year and was not about to risk his very existence just because the old coot felt he needed to get out more. With this in mind Bilbo Baggins nodded his resolution and retreated into his smial after tapping out his pipe on the corner of the bench.

It should not have been a surprise that Olórin had ignored his wishes entirely and brought down a contingent of Dwarrow onto Bag-End, but Bilbo had made the mistake of forgetting that the Maiar were some of the wiliest creatures to come of Eru's interventions and would not be easily persuaded off their schemes and he was therefore very surprised indeed. His surprise was what kept him from (politely) shutting the door in the face of Dwalin son of Fundin and putting a stop to this nonsense before it began.

 **It's short, and barely even read through, but I wanted to get posting it out of the way for now.**

 **Note; When Bilbo says siblings, he doesn't mean blood relations- in this AU I imagine that none of the Valar are blood related and all their familial relationships are adoptive- they don't really understand sexual procreation as they kinda just spawn with some mysterious purpose in life. I used Hawaiian as their language, referred to for now as Hobbitish. Why Hawaiian you ask? Because it's cool and I like it. (My rudimentary google translating skills have gotten me this far- don't judge.)**

 **ʻoiaʻiʻo- true end**  
 **kahu- guardians**  
 **ka uku- charges**


	2. Chapter 2

**Even I'm still not sure where this is going, so if you're along for the ride, I make no promises.**

Bilbo knew that his time sense wasn't the best anymore, but it was decent enough to tell him that this was far from over- the niggling feeling in the back of his mind waking all the other parts of himself he had done his best to shove away in a closet never to be seen or heard from again. His curiosity reared its head first, intrigued by this stranger on his doorstep. He'd not interacted with Dwarrow since the War of Wrath, after which he retired to the Shire- content to observe his brother's creations from afar.

Before said curiosity could take over his mouth and make him ask questions he was sure to regret, Bilbo smiled politely and mentally went after the feeling with a broom.

He leaned against his kitchen hearth, mostly aghast but partly intrigued; who was Dwalin? Why was he here (Olórin of course, but _why_?) Was it just enthusiasm that had him vigorously devouring Bilbo's fish, or poor circumstance?

Dwalin's soul was that of a warrior, anyone with eyes could see that just from his physical form. He had clearly known hardship and sadness, but while his clothes were worn and his physique travel-roughened, he did not look to be in dire straits.

When the dwarf took to shoving Bilbo's biscuits in his mouth with no care for the crumbs or for others who might want to eat them - taking all but the one the hobbit had hastily shoved in his dressing gown pocket, Bilbo had to bite his tongue- to prevent his questions or a murder over a waste of food he did not know.

Next to come was Balin; the name giving away the family relation to the other dwarf eating Bilbo's dinner down the hall. Along with him came an old facet of Bilbo's personality; sociability. Having lived in isolation amongst the same people for millennia he was rather bored of talking. Balin was not only new, but his soul spoke of great personability if nearly as wily a nature as the wizard. The dwarf would be sure to match wits with Bilbo, even if those wits seemed to have temporarily taken leave of their host.

Indeed, having not had any wish to interact with anyone in a very long time it was much harder for Bilbo to push down the idea of talking with Balin for hours on end.

Having failed to keep the dwarrow from his smial initially, Bilbo attempted to reason them out the door, but reason only works on those who listen and it seemed he'd forgotten that dwarrow are notoriously bad listeners. The two of them wandered into his pantry and started throwing about his food, chucking the blue cheese he'd just acquired the day previous after haggling with mistress Goodchild for nearly an hour in the hot sun of the midday market right out into the hallway! It was disgraceful and had Bilbo's blood boiling.

No matter their form, Hobbits held a deep respect for other people's property; invading another's home and picking through their things was the height of impropriety! Having had nothing better to do in their gifted haven, the Diminished had taken to grooming impeccable manners into themselves and their _ka uku_ , and Bilbo could say he was guilty of this as well.

When the dwarflings showed up, with their enthusiasm and synchronicity, Bilbo couldn't help but be overcome by the similarities between their relationship and that he used to have with his siblings. He wanted to ply them with food and bundle them away where the horrors of the world couldn't touch their light, for bright they were.

Their souls were deeply intertwined- even more so than might be expected of siblings- and their joyous light was tempered only by an overlying need to not disappoint. Bilbo wondered at that, but decided the luminosity of their souls would only be his business should something be done to dim them that he could fix.

He got rather upset when one of the younglings tried to scrape his boots on Belladonna's glory box, but he knew that while he minded she would probably have found it hilarious. That didn't mean he didn't give them an earful, just because they were children didn't mean they got to get away with defiling his kahu's things. ((A/N:I forfeit on proper Hawaiian grammar. Someone kill me.)) He almost felt guilty- the gangly thing had nearly perfected that kicked-puppy look that all younglings practiced judiciously, but Bilbo Baggins hadn't spent millennia around the fauntlings of the Shire just to crumble before an adolescent dwarf.

Bilbo fretted and clucked as was proper of a gentlehobbit whose smial was being consumed by entropy at the hands of dwarrow, but it was half-hearted at best. He could no longer deny that he wanted what Olórin - Gandalf, he went by in the common tongue- was offering, that he longed to see mountains and rivers and forests again, even if they weren't as he remembered. He longed to soar above them as he once did when he still had his wings, and had taken to denying himself entirely when he lost them. But maybe… maybe it was time to take a step in the right direction.

When his 'guests' had finally decided that his home was sufficiently debauched and had settled down (…relatively. Maybe. A little bit.) to eat, Bilbo sequestered himself in a corner on a hard won stool with a tankard of ale and his pipe to contemplate his hypothetical departure.

Death was… always a possibility, but Bilbo had enough confidence in his current abilities to state that his ʻoiaʻiʻo was unlikely. If anything he'd simply be sent back to the shire and have to listen to his kin berate him for risking himself like that. He'd lived this life long enough to try childhood again, who knows, he might stay a Baggins.

The only thing he could really think to worry about would be discovery; the wizard was the most likely to figure it out, being magic sensitive as he was, however he knew little enough about hobbits to be unable to draw any specific conclusions. Dwarrow, he knew from experience, were irritatingly obtuse one minute and shockingly observant the next, so that lot finding out was a bit of a wild card. They wouldn't be able to draw any specific conclusions either, but that wouldn't stop them from freaking out when he proved to be not what they expected.

Magic… well, if he survived even getting out of the Shire he'd have to watch himself, but he'd probably have some power to expend. His Watch he still had, but he hadn't tried to use it for anything more than readings in centuries. Bilbo decided he'd bring it anyway- even if he couldn't manage its weapon form he would still have backups, and it might prove useful for… whatever it is they needed him for.

He'd have to dredge up all his traveling things from wherever they'd run off to- not having been used for at least an Age meant he hadn't really watched where they ended up. He'd also need to send his will to the Thain- his once-brother would understand his itchy wandering feet and keep everything in order until his return. Aside from that-

His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door silencing his raucous guests.

"He is here."

 **(The 'Watch' Bilbo refers to is something every Vala has- it's essentially a magic multi-tool directly linked to their soul/magic that they can use for anything (ex- weapons, feather dusters, teleporters, 'readings' aka Middle Earth google, etc..) to the extent that their magic allows it. Bilbo set the 'default form' of his to a pocket watch, because we all know he's actually a really classy little nerd who likes his waistcoats to have a little bling. (I like to think that Eru's is like a wand and when he made the maiar he gave them their own versions but forgot to shrink them accordingly so all the wizards staffs are really just Eru-sized, non-transformable wands.))**


End file.
